Chapter 3 - THE VEIL OF ILLUSIONS
Avery’s mind violently spun. The ballroom, the chandeliers, the sea of wealthy guests—everything faded into a deafening static.
She stared at the faded photograph in Liam’s hand. Her father. Victoria. An embrace that spoke of deep, intimate familiarity, not the cold distance of a CEO and a low-level accountant. And the emeralds. The infamous Sterling Emeralds that had ruined her father's name, ruined her childhood, and cemented her family's legacy as criminals.
“Where did you get this?” Avery choked out, her throat tight and burning. She reached for the photograph, but Liam instinctively pulled it back an inch, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and hurt.
“A valet handed it to me in an envelope five minutes ago,” Liam said, his voice thick with tension. He stepped closer, shielding their conversation from the prying eyes of the guests. “Avery, why do you have a picture of my mother with your father? Why is she wearing the missing necklace? Did you bring this here tonight to start a scandal?”
The betrayal in his voice felt like a physical blow.
“I didn’t bring that, Liam,” Avery whispered fiercely, her eyes welling with unshed tears. “I’ve never seen that photograph in my life. Your mother—she just showed me my father's watch. The watch he died with. She has had it all this time.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. He looked past her, toward where his mother was holding court, laughing elegantly with a senator. “My mother showed you a watch? Avery, she told me this morning that the stress of the baby was getting to you. That you were imagining things. She warned me you might try to create a scene to embarrass the family.”
A reversal of reality slammed into Avery. Victoria had planned this. Every move was a chess piece perfectly positioned. The speech, the watch, the secretly delivered photo. Victoria was framing Avery as a paranoid, vengeful wife trying to extort the Sterlings, laying the groundwork to have her removed from Leo’s life entirely.
“And you believed her?” Avery’s voice cracked. She looked at the man she loved, the man who had defied his family to marry the daughter of a disgraced employee. “Liam, look at the photo! Look at the necklace! She’s wearing it! My father didn't steal it; they were together. She set him up.”
Liam stared at the photograph again. He traced the edge of the emeralds with his thumb. For a agonizing second, he hesitated. Avery saw the conflict warring in his eyes. The loyalty to his aristocratic bloodline clashing with the love for his wife.
“This photo could be doctored, Avery,” Liam said quietly, his voice hollow. “My mother is ruthless in business, yes. But she isn't a murderer. She wouldn’t frame a man to die.”
He was defending her. After everything Victoria had put Avery through, Liam was still blind to the depths of his mother’s darkness.
“Liam—”
“Keep your voice down,” Liam interrupted, glancing around. “We will talk about this at home. Put the photo in your purse. Act normal. Do not give my mother the satisfaction of a public meltdown.”
He handed her the photograph. His touch was cold. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd to greet a hedge fund manager, leaving Avery standing completely alone in a room full of people.
A tear finally escaped, tracing a hot path down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, feeling the sharp sting of the iron key still clutched in her hand. She slipped the photograph and the bloody key into her small clutch purse, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
She needed air. She needed to breathe.
Avery turned toward the massive French doors leading to the terrace. As she moved through the crowd, her vision blurred.
Suddenly, a waitress in a crisp black-and-white uniform stepped directly into her path, carrying a tray of champagne.
Avery tried to step around her, but the waitress shifted seamlessly, blocking her again. Before Avery could speak, the waitress stumbled forward with an unnatural jerk.
Champagne spilled down the front of Avery’s expensive floral gown, the cold liquid shocking her system.
“Oh! My apologies, Mrs. Sterling! I am so clumsy!” the waitress gasped loudly, drawing the attention of several nearby guests.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Avery muttered, highly flustered, trying to brush the liquid off the delicate silk.
The waitress grabbed a linen napkin from her tray and began dabbing frantically at Avery’s dress. She leaned in uncomfortably close. Avery tried to pull away, but the woman’s grip on her waist was surprisingly strong.
Under the cover of the napkin, the waitress looked up. Her eyes were not apologetic. They were wide, sharp, and terrified.
Avery recognized those eyes. Beneath the server’s makeup and the neat bun, it was Martha. The old Sterling nanny who had cared for Liam as a child and who had mysteriously vanished right after Avery announced her pregnancy.
“Martha?” Avery breathed in shock. “What are you—”
“Listen to me very carefully,” Martha whispered rapidly, her lips barely moving. She pressed the linen napkin hard against Avery’s stomach. “Victoria knows you have the key. She gave it to you so you would run. The moment you leave this property, her men will take you. They will take the baby.”
Avery’s blood ran cold. “What is the key for? Martha, what is happening?”
“It opens the vault at St. Jude’s,” Martha whispered, pulling away slightly as a security guard glanced in their direction. “Your father left it there. The truth about Liam’s birth.”
Martha stuffed the soiled napkin directly into Avery’s hand, her fingers trembling.
“Do not trust your husband,” Martha added, her voice dropping to a terrifying deadpan. “He doesn't know what he is.”
Martha bowed deeply, apologizing loudly for the spill, and quickly disappeared into the sea of guests.
Avery stood frozen, clutching the damp napkin. She slowly unfolded it.
May you like
Scrawled in black ink across the white linen were three words:
He is Marcus.
